


5 Times They Didn't Fit

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5 Times, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Intimacy, Double Penetration, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Retirement, sharing space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: They knew they'd have a hell of a time, fitting in.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonflies_and_Katydids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/gifts).



> Only 1 chapter will be rated E. Tried getting a little of everything in here.  
> Happy BE, DK, OK?

Bull's sitting on the floor, his less bad (because neither are a hundred percent anymore) knee pulled up so he can rest his elbow on it, forehead resting in his hand, with his back against Cullen's desk. Dorian blinks a few times to make sense of the visual. He's lying on the couch they dragged into the office weeks ago, thick woollen blanket warding off the mountain chill and Cullen still asleep against his back. His brain takes a moment to surface, snuggled in all the warmth and The fire's down to embers in the hearth, but there's still barely any light coming through the window so it must not quite be morning. Bull's asleep, so he must have been there a while, since he always makes sure they're both sleeping before he does.

"Bull?" Dorian whispers. Bull's head jerks up, out of his hand when he looks over. He smiles, but Dorian frowns. "Come closer."

"Desk is good for my back," Bull says. "Not enough space over there."

Dorian just fixes him with a Look. Bull sighs and pulls himself from the floor, and walks the four steps to the settee and resettles himself on the floor there. It squeaks a little when he leans back and it scrapes on the stone floor, but Cullen sleeps through it, only tightening his arm around Dorian's hip. From here, Dorian can press his lips to the back of Bull's neck in thanks before he drapes the corner of the blanket across Bull's wide shoulders.


	2. ii.

Even in Halamshiral, where everything is over the top, needlessly opulent and built for the sole purpose of impressing the little people like them, they can't fit three of them in the bath at once. Bull moves fast when he sees it, wrapping his arm around Cullen's waist and half-spins before setting him on his feet again, putting Cullen last into the steamy room.

"Unfair," Cullen says, but with a chuckle. He's long since accepted that he'll never be first for a bath with his partners around. Dorian's basically a fish for all the time he needs to spend in the water, and Bull's got aches and pains and joints stiffer than the drinks Cabot pours at the Herald's Rest, so Cullen steps aside and lets them use up as much hot water as they like. Living in Circles with however many other people got him used to very little hot water anyway.

Dorian sinks up to his chin in the bath, the dampness making his hair droop low to all but cover his eyes, and lets out an explosive sigh of contentment. Bull slides in the water behind him, taking Dorian by the shoulder and easing him closer.

Cullen strips down to his breeches and sits on the edge of the sunken bath, thankful for the relative peace away from the crowds and all the general Orlesian nonsense.

Dorian flicks wet fingertips in his direction, spattering him with rapidly cooling droplets.

"Come in," Dorian says. "The water is perfect."

"There's not enough room," Cullen says, pointing out the water sloshing dangerously close to the edges of the tub when Bull shifts again to pull Dorian flush against him. Dorian nearly pouts, but Cullen waves him off. "It's fine, I'll wait my turn. I don't mind the view at all."


	3. iii.

"It's going to be a tight fit," Bull says between thrusts.

Dorian marvels at it, the differences in the two of them. They're both in his bed, performing for him, in the same light, with the same intense looks of concentration, but Bull makes it look effortless and easy, all smooth movements and a calm smile, not even panting. Cullen, on the other hand… Sweat dripping down his face and back, even a little trickle running down his arm before Dorian wipes it away. He's panting, he's wriggling, all the muscles in his arms and shoulders stand out in the low light, just under the strain of trying to keep himself from coming to pieces.

"Do you want to try?" Bull asks, pausing to reach around and palm Cullen's cock. It's been idly suggested before, but now in the heat of the moment

_(and oh, it's hot with the multiple veilfire lamps burning away, with the heat pouring off Bull as he works his own brand of magic, and Cullen, sweet Cullen, gasping hot breaths and biting off curse words as Bull fucks him until he can't hold himself up and he collapses face first into Dorian's lap)_

it's the most sensational idea they've ever had.

Cullen nods, swallowing a drawn out moan. He turns over, blinking up at Dorian, and gathers himself enough to sit up. "Yes," he says. "We should… we should try. I want to try. You'll be careful?"

"So careful," Bull assures him, crowding against both of them and pressing soothing kisses to his temples, reach past Cullen to finds Dorian's hand. "Right?"

"Yes," Dorian says, kissing the other side of Cullen's face and reveling in the shudder and the fluttering hands they get from Cullen in return. He hardly ever asks, but they know he sometimes yearns to be in between them. It's such an easy request to grant, Dorian wishes he'd ask more often.

There's more oil then, more fingers, more encouraging words and sweet, lingering kisses. Cullen buries his face in Dorian's pillow, tensions thrumming through his body while Bull lines his cock up again and pushes in with one fluid motion. Dorian tickles his fingers up Cullen's sides and back down, patting his thigh and whispering how good he is, how good, how accommodating. Bull shifts on the bed, tugging Dorian up by the shoulders to get him in an acceptable position.

"Ready?" Bull asks, rubbing his hands down Cullen's back to pull him up from biting on the pillows.

"Mmm," is all Cullen can manage, with a small nod.

Dorian nudges the head of his cock up along the underside of Bull's cock and right against Cullen's hole. Cullen squirms under them, muttering something that Dorian definitely knows is blasphemous here in the south.

The first push is… well, it's nothing like anything's been before. So tight, cramped, even, not that Dorian's about to tell Bull to remove his cock, and searingly hot. Cullen stops muttering, goes stock-still. Bull and Dorian, sharing a mind as much as they're sharing Cullen, both reach out a hand for comfort. Bull's got his other arm around Dorian's waist, holding him tightly so no one loses their balance, so Dorian gets oil for himself, smoothing it around both of their cocks and Cullen's ass, stretched so tight and red around them.

Dorian gets an inch, total, before Cullen taps out and Dorian and Bull both retreat. Dorian tidies them all up while Bull runs his hands through Cullen's ruined curls and Cullen just breathes out his exertion and soaks up the gentle attention.

"We'll try again," Cullen says finally, once Dorian's awkwardly fitting himself next to them on the bed. He's now a long, long way from the nervous, never-been-with-a-man-and-definitely-not-one-man-and-his-giant-qunari-boyfriend virgin they'd originally brought to their bed for a lark and fallen in love with almost a year ago.

Dorian and Bull trade satisfied grins over his head.


	4. iv.

Screw the stupid jungle and all the awful plants, and terrible animals, and the _fucking_ Venatori and the _stupid fucking_ Red Templars in it.

"Out," Vivienne says, and there is no arguing with the tone, the look, or the very pointed boots. "There's not nearly enough room in here for you two acting like panicked druffalo."

Cullen sees the thunder in Bull's eyes and immediately reaches for him, twining their fingers together as he pulls Bull a ways away from the tent.

"Calm," Cullen warns, half to Bull and half to the blood pounding in his own ears.

"If he --"

"He's okay. He's fine. Vivienne and Josephine are with him."

"But --"

"He's going to be okay, Bull," Cullen says, with much more force. He pats the sword by his hip. "Come, let's make ourselves useful in the meantime."

They work so well together, Bull almost wishes Cullen joined them in the field more often, though it makes it easier to focus sometimes knowing at least Cullen is safe somewhere when he's already worried about Dorian. Because Dorian does dumb shit like this, and takes a cracking blow across the ribs from a Red Templar asshole with a mace the size of three regular maces put together like that fucking shitbrain had something to prove.

Cullen catches his elbow, rather dangerous thing to try while Iron Bull is about to land a brutal downswing on an already dead Venatori marksman.

"He's going to be fine," Cullen says again, giving Bull a pointed look. Right, shit. Kill them, but don't waste time on the overkill. There's lots of violence to go around.

By the time Bull's worked out enough of his worry, they head back to camp. Just before they get there, he snags Cullen by the bracer and kisses him, hard. His mind is reeling in a unpleasant, unfamiliar way that he does not like, and he's at a loss for how to process.

"Bull," Cullen says hoarsely when they finally break apart. "There's blood on your face."

"Sorry."

"And he's going to be fine. Do you really think Dorian would let himself be slowed down much by a templar? He's made it clear that templars don't 'ruffle his feathers,'" Cullen says with a tiny smile.

"Well, except when you --"

"Yes, but this is _hardly_ the same situation. I'm sure Vivienne's already got him patched up."

Bull shoves past Vivienne, even as she smiles faintly at them and stands aside.

Dorian's flat on his back on the cot, but he's awake and scowling. "Where did you run off to? Scare me half to death, leaving me to wake up with all these people admiring my naked form and not a familiar set of eyes here," he says. He's quiet, but the purple-black bruising across his chest gives ample reason why he can't draw in a full breath.

Bull's shoulders drop when he crouches beside the cot, horns pressing into the canvas above them. Cullen takes the other side, though there's hardly room even to kneel.

Dorian manages a smile for both of them and the relief is palpable. "Really, no need for all the fuss," he says, taking one of their hands in each of his and they can each finally, _finally_ take their own ragged breath.


	5. v.

"He's dead," Cadash says, dropping her axe. "He's actually fucking dead." She sounds surprised, happy, but shocked maybe that they're all still standing and Corypheus is gone.

There's still the rush of noise from below, like the bad guys don't know their stupid leader is dead, and his ugly lyrium dragon with him. "We should help," Bull says, glancing at Dorian.

"Ugh," Sera says feelingly, hefting her bow. "We just did so much though."

Dorian nods wholeheartedly. "So much, Bull." He's running on empty, the last reverses of his magic tingling in the tips of his fingers. He's got a bit more, maybe, but he'll sleep for two days afterwards and be grouchy enough to make anyone cry if he gets disturbed (sorry again, Cadash).

"Cullen's down there," Bull reminds him, and of course that's enough to put spurs to him. Dorian downs one more of those foul mana restoring lyrium drafts, as grainy and tart as they are, and they head for the sounds of fighting.

A cheer goes up when they arrive and an even louder one when Matsora arrives behind them. Cadash has that effect on the troops, Dorian supposes, but Cullen only has eyes for them, grinning like a fool.

* * *

Josephine has the most elaborate plans for a party, and probably for a memorial for those fallen, but tonight, it's mead, food, wine, and laughing until they cry because somehow, against all odds, they made it through and and all the bleak musings on the gainless nature of fighting evil had been moot after all.

Cullen's caught up in a whirl of handshakes from his troops, everyone coming and going with thanks for their Commander.

Bull's surrounded by the Chargers, carrying on far too loudly like only the Chargers can.

Even Matsora is head-to-head with Lace Harding, giggling all the while.

Dorian sips his wine, something from Leliana's private stash that she slipped him before she slinks off the the rookery to send some notes about the sudden disappearance of their bald elf friend.

It's good to see -- his friends and his partners enjoying themselves within their circles. They deserve it, hard-fought and hard-won as it was.

The world isn't going to end, not in the next week or so, anyway, and of course, it's a joyful moment. But Dorian is exhausted and his mind is still reeling from too much magic and not enough rest in the last few days and he just wants to wrap himself in a blanket and his lovers' arms and sleep for three days.

With a little nod to Blackwall who's the only one looking in his direction, he slips out the door into the hallway.

In the garden, the air is frigid. He regrets only having a large scarf to unravel around his shoulders instead of one of his heavy furs. The garden is calming and more importantly, empty. He finds a stone bench and sits, letting the air chill the heat in his cheeks and clear his mind. 

Cullen joins him after half an hour or so. He's brought another bottle of red, but Dorian would have welcomed him anyway. Cullen doesn't say anything, just smiles a tight, exhausted smile that causes a line of fresh blood to appear along the wound on his cheekbone.

Dorian leans his head on Cullen's shoulder, having officially given up a few weeks ago on pretending he hates Cullen's fur. Tonight, it smells more like smoke than normal and maybe a like a touch of blood, but it's acceptable. They pass the bottle back and forth, sipping the sharp red. With wine on his lips and Cullen's arm around his back, it's a fitting end to the endlessly long day.

Bull finds them when the cold has seeped down to their bones. The empty wine bottle has long since slipped from numb fingers.

There's no space for Bull to sit, and the frozen ground is not welcoming. "C'mon," he urges, holding out hands.

They walk without anyone having declared where they're going. It's routine now, when they gather, to trail along together. Whether it's to the training yard, to Cullen's office to fetch something, to The Herald's Rest for a drink and their friends, they always stick close by. It's been almost impossible to part on their own accord, knowing some task or meeting or quest will do it for them soon enough. Now, of course, there's nothing like that, at least until dawn.

Bull is their rock, their centre, and he leads them to his room at the tavern.

Cullen sits heavily on the end of bed and watches with a trace of a smile while Bull strips Dorian out of his clothes. Dorian murmurs something against Bull's neck that makes him grin before Bull deposits him under the coverlet. Cullen lets Bull pull off his boots but lies next to Dorian in his clothes.

Bull settles himself on the bed though there's barely any room for him. They're both sleeping in seconds, and Bull tries not to shift too much or disturb them. He resigns himself to being awake, but it's worth it because they finally look peaceful after how many months of restlessness.

Bull's arm goes numb from leaning on it so he doesn't smack Cullen with his horns and yeah, his back is freezing while his front is sweaty, and he wouldn't ever trade it.


	6. vi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times they couldn't fit, and the first time they finally did.

Dorian lets out a startled laugh. "Just like that? Can she even do that?"

Josephine grins, clapping her hands together. "I think you'll find Inquisitor Cadash can do whatever she wants at this point. Who's planning to argue with her? But yes, to answer the question you didn't ask. It's been donated to the Inquisition. The owners of the chateau didn't particularly like it all that much, especially as it was up until very recently overrun by demons and such."

"I remember," Bull says grimly.

"She's giving it to us… to have?" Cullen asks. His mind ticks over the towering heap of paperwork and reports on his desk, probably bigger than when he last saw it. There's barely time to break for a meal, let alone a trip to the Dales.

The Inquisitor walks up at that moment and pokes him in the shoulder with a grin. "Yes, Commander, all yours. I cleared out the demons, but you'll have you figure out cobwebs and repairs yourself. You're very welcome," Matsora says, jingling the keys again until Cullen reaches out to take them. 

"Inquisitor, I don't think we can leave just --"

"Please, you can call me Matsora," she says. "You know, since you no longer work for the Inquisition."

"Oh, Maker," Dorian says, glancing between them and shooting a look to Bull. "You've broken him now."

"Enjoy your retirement, Cullen."

Cullen looks bewildered and opens his mouth, but Dorian takes him by the arm and firmly escorts him out. Behind them, he hears a hushed discussion and then --

"Yes! Cadash, you're the best! Dorian! Cullen! We get to keep the dragon!"

* * *

The chateau and grounds are dilapidated, but the foundations are sturdy. 

"Are we really going to live in Orlais?" Cullen asks, for probably the ninetieth time. They don't answer him, but they do commence another argument about what needs to be repaired first -- the library, the kitchen, or the stables, so Cullen can get some dogs and a horse. 

Bull amends his kitchen answer, resigning to eat what they can cook on an open fire for a few months more, when he realizes what having a whole Orlesian estate finally means…

* * *

Dorian laughs himself hoarse, gripping Bull's arm and the door frame to hold himself up.

"S'not funny, it was a serious problem. Won't be anymore."

The bed is big, vast even, under an equally oversized window.

Cullen chuckles softly, but even just two weeks of solid rest, two people to keep tabs on instead of a whole battalion, and very few premonitions of imminent doom have softened his features and the tired smile turns into an earnest grin.

Bull throws himself onto the enormous bed, nearly spearing a pillow with a horn. "Come on, you don't love it? We can actually share a bed, all of us."

"Yes, all right, I'll admit this is better to have immediately than the library, but you'll still need to build those shelves eventually," Dorian says, sitting himself primly on the edge of the bed, but then flopping back and rubbing his face to the bedding.

"Yes, it's Tevinter cotton," Bull says, because he's a planner. 

Dorian mutters something as he turns over onto his stomach and beckons Cullen closer.

"What was that?"

"He said he wants to stay here all day," Bull translates, already plucking at Dorian's clothes.

Cullen spares a glance out the window overlooking decades worth of overgrown brush he'd been ready to spend two weeks clearing up and promptly pulls the dusty curtains shut, leaving just a few rays to sneak in.

It seems that he'll have ample time for clearing the gardens and for forty other sweaty, exhausting chores in the weeks to come. He can spare some time, especially since the invitation comes with a Tevinter mage wrapped up in Tevinter cotton with his eyes already squeezed closed and sighing in time to Bull moving under said cotton.

"That can certainly be arranged," Cullen agrees.

* * *

It's sweltering hot when Dorian wakes up. He pulls his face out of the pillow and heaves a sigh, but he can't turn over because two heavy arms have him pinned. Cullen's pressed along one side of him with Bull on the other, their hands linked over Dorian's naked back. Sweat trickles uncomfortably. He grunts and wriggles until Bull wakes up and gets the hint.

Bull can open the curtains without getting up, and outside, the sun has set. It takes a lot of cajoling, but the window finally slides open with an ugly, drawn out squeak and a rain of dust and old paint, and the evening breeze is a welcome addition.

"I can fix that," Cullen murmurs, turning onto his side and pressing his lips to Dorian's temple, utterly immune to overheating if it means affection. He tries to sit up before clarifying, "tomorrow."

The bed is, truly, on the big side, but Dorian must admit it's nice to finally have a place they can all fit that's not the ground. Bull hums his contentment on one side, while Cullen's already dozing again on his other, and yet again, Dorian's amazed by how well they all fit together.


End file.
